


Little Black Book

by LoverCrowley (ShadowScale)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Podfic Length: 0-10 Minutes, Poetry, Tumblr Prompt, also available as a podfic! link in the beginning note, the whole thing isn't poetry there's just like 1 poem in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 21:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19838419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowScale/pseuds/LoverCrowley
Summary: Crowley has been writing an awful lot in a little notebook, and Aziraphale is painfully curious what it's all about.





	Little Black Book

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the dialogue prompt: "I told you not to read that."
> 
> If you'd prefer to listen, there is a wonderful podfic version [here!](https://soundcloud.com/gomens-audio-fanfic-project/little-black-book-by-lovercrowley-no-music)

Aziraphale peers over the rims of his glasses at Crowley who is scribbling away in a little leather-bound notebook. He appears to be thinking quite hard about whatever it is he’s working on, bouncing one leg, scrunching up his face, biting his lower lip. Aziraphale’s curiosity gets the better of him.

“What’s that for?” He asks.

“Hm?” Crowley's leg freezes mid bounce, he looks up.

“What are you working on?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing really, just er, some plans. Yeah, plans for future wiles, you know.” Crowley crosses his legs, uncrosses them, crosses them again the other way. “Nothing interesting.”

“I wouldn’t say that; those are wiles I’ll have to thwart won’t I?”

Crowley makes a noise like alphabet soup and shrugs. “Nahh, I mean they’re just plans now, brainstorming. Nothing interesting,” he repeats.

“Ah. Well, alright then. I’ll let you get back to it.”

Over the next several days Aziraphale can’t help but notice that Crowley is writing in his little black book often. Very often. Practically every chance he gets, it seems, even once while they had dessert after dinner.

“Those must be quite the plans,” the angel comments lightly once, when from across the room Crowley can be seen to fill several pages in quick succession.

“Plans?” Crowley looks up with a puzzled expression, then remembers his explanation from the previous day. “Yes! Yes, the plans for wiles. Aha, right, this one is um, rather complex. Maybe too complex.” He seems to murmur this last bit more to himself than to Aziraphale. “Anyhow I should be on my way. See you tomorrow, angel!”

Aziraphale watches him go, feeling more and more confused.

The writing continues for a few months, though it is much less frequent over time. Aziraphale almost forgets about the whole strange ordeal entirely, until one night he sees it again, laying on the floor beside Crowley’s coat, which is draped over the back of a chair.

“Is that yours?”

Crowley looks and scoops it up at once, setting it on the table. “Yes.”

Aziraphale waits several seconds. “Can I… read it?”

“No.” He extends his legs and sets his heels atop the notebook as if Aziraphale might try to snatch it up anyway. “No, don’t read that,” he says before jumping back into their previous topic of conversation easily. 

Aziraphale goes along with it. In fact, Aziraphale is resigned to the notion that he will never know the contents of the notebook and that he might as well stop bringing it up since Crowley doesn’t want to share, until… Until he realizes later that night, that the demon has left for his own flat and the notebook is still sitting there on the table. Unguarded. All but taunting him.

The angel restrains himself for several minutes before giving into the temptation. He flips to a page at random. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end as he stares at the scrawling handwriting.

“I told you not to read that.”

Aziraphale jumps, slamming the book shut. “I wasn’t!”

“No? What were you doing then?” Crowley is leaning over Aziraphale’s shoulder, eyebrows raised.

Aziraphale silently scolds himself for his own curiosity, for peeking, for _not hearing the welcome bell ring indicating that Crowley had come back_. Well, Aziraphale could hardly hear anything besides the blood pounding in his ears. 

He doesn’t have an answer.

“That’s what I thought,” Crowley rumbles, delicately plucking the book from Aziraphale’s hands. “So?”

“…So?” Aziraphale repeats a bit meekly, looking up at the demon still standing over him.

“So, what did you read? What did you think?”

Aziraphale stares. “Er, I really only read a line or two before you, well…”

“Which ones?”

“Which… ones?”

Crowley rolls his eyes and sits down beside him. “Is there an echo in here? Yes, which bit did you read?”

“Oh, um. Foul fiend I ca- _you_ called me once,” the angel recites.

Pages flutter and Crowley finds where Aziraphale had left off. He reads several lines of the poem aloud.

_In the East the sun does rise_  
_From thence my love did too_  
_Though it sets not in the West_  
_But cool ethereal blue_  
_Foul fiend you called me once_  
_Gentle love aside_  
_A dance with more steps back and forth_  
_Than humble rolling tide_  
_I’m not occult! You did proclaim_  
_Setting us apart_  
_Even with this barrier_  
_You’ve snuck into my heart_  
_I cannot state my intentions from the day upon the wall_  
_I only know that since that time I’ve set you before all_

The notebook closes again. Crowley clears his throat.

“That’s… that’s lovely, Crowley,” Aziraphale says softly. “You wrote that?”

“I wrote all of this. And,” he winks, “What you heard was hardly one of the better ones.”

“It’s all poetry?”

“Mm. I told you not to read it…” He sighs and leans back. “I told you not to read it because I was going to have it printed. Just one copy, so I could give them to you as a proper book. A gift.”

“Just for me?” Aziraphale gets a warm feeling in his chest.

“Well, they’re all written about you.” Crowley thinks a moment then amends himself. “They’re all written _for_ you. Some are _about_ life, or nature, or … or there’s one about cake in there somewhere.” He shifts. “You didn’t hate it?”

“No! No, goodness no.” Aziraphale takes Crowley’s hand and presses a kiss to his fingertips. “And I’m sorry I spoiled your surprise, but. I still think it’s very sweet.”

“Yeah, well. I forgive you then.” He takes Aziraphale’s hand and kisses it right back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!
> 
> //I rarely write poetry so hopefully that bit was okay?//
> 
> If you want to chat you can find me on [tumblr](http://www.lovercrowley.tumblr.com)


End file.
